


On Three, We Jump

by Delicate_Clementine



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, F/M, First Meetings, M/M, also there's ONE kiss, and have to jump from a balcony, but its over in like two sentences so don't worry, reader just wants a better life for themselves, there's some tension, this is what i like to call an adventure fic, well kinda, who knows if its romantic or sexual, yall rob a house together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-01 00:34:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20456144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delicate_Clementine/pseuds/Delicate_Clementine
Summary: You'd do just about anything to get out of your life of servitude to the wealthy, even steal from the very household that employed you, but when a certain masked outlaw who asks too many questions shows up and puts a hitch in your plans, you start to wonder what it is you actually want out of life.





	On Three, We Jump

It was quite the risk to rob the wealthy family you’d been serving for the past few years, you’d told yourself this countless times. 

You had no prior experience in thievery, no sort of reference to go by, and certainly no guarantee you’d even get five feet away from the Miller estate before being found out. 

All you had going for you was a burning determination, and a few sparks of luck. 

It just so happened that the Miller family was just about the stupidest group of people you’d ever met.

They were far too trusting with their house staff, they told them everything, from where the safe that held their family fortune was kept, to how much was in there, and never seemed to be aware in the slightest that this information could be used against them.

So far it hadn’t, and that, more than anything, felt like a sign to seize the opportunity while it was still in your grasp.

All five of them (a mother, father, older sister, and two younger brothers) were leaving for a holiday out in one of their various houses in the countryside, taking with them a few important members of their house staff, and sending the rest away for the week. That left you, one of their most trusted servants, all alone, to take care of their home while they were away.

You were giddy when you were helping the daughter pack her suitcase, and you were practically vibrating as you watched them pile in to one of their carriages, waving farewell along with the rest of the house staff.

By sundown, it was just you, alone in the estate, and after checking and rechecking you had all the supplies your saddlebags could carry, and your horse was safely munching on a pile of hay, hitched to a post you could see from the window of the upstairs drawing room, you finally felt secure enough to begin.

You could feel a slight shake in your hands, from both nerves and excitement as you gripped the handrail of the grand staircase, and made your way towards the oldest daughter’s bedroom.

You already knew you wanted to start there. That girl owned more pieces of jewelry than any one person should be in possession of, and you knew several items that you could live off for months that would hardly be missed.

Even so, as you reached the top of the staircase, you found your glee fading ever so slightly as you met the passive gazes of the large family portrait that hung at the entrance of the second floor.

Looking at their painted faces, you couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit of guilt dampening your spirits.

You had spent years with these people, getting to know them under the good, steady paying job they had given you. And they had never treated you nearly as bad as you knew other families were to their servants. You could live a decent life here with the Miller’s, if you wanted to.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? You didn’t want to.

You didn’t want to live the rest of your days living the life of a servant while waiting on a family that had more money than they’d ever spend, not when you could take some of that wealth for and go live the life of freedom and self-dependence you’d always wanted.

You wanted better for yourself, _ knew _ you deserved better, and you were going to get it by any means necessary.__

_ __ _

You turned your nose up at the portrait and walked right past it. You could feel remorse later, right now you had a job to do.

_ __ _

Finally reaching the eldest daughter’s room, you immediately go for her vanity, and quickly opened all the drawers you knew she stashed her jewelry in.

_ __ _

You felt a tingling sense of excitement as you rummaged through the overflowing drawers, and you can suddenly picture yourself as a skilled thief or conman, the kind whose name was known by all but seen by few, and could rob the pants off a man and be half way across the country before he’d even notice they were gone. The kind of person who lived by their own rules, away from the strict hierarchy of civilization.

_ __ _

How childish, to be dreaming about such things while doing something so monumentally _ real _, but you couldn’t deny how thrilling that fantasy was when you actually pictured yourself in that situation. __

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Once you had taken all the jewelry you dared, you plan to visit the parents room next, you knew the mother had plenty of jewelry as well, and you’d always admired the father’s pocket watch collection- 

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Suddenly, the sharp sound of shattering glass cuts through the silence around you, and your heart nearly bursts out of your chest in panic. 

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The first thought to pop into your head was that the family had returned, and you’d be caught red-handed before you’d even began. Then you think, of course it isn’t them. If the Miller’s were back, they would have simply walked through the front door.

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No, whoever was in the house with you (and you could definitely tell there was someone now, you could hear them stumbling about through the shattered window) must be here to do the same thing you were.

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Not on your watch.

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You weren’t about to have your one-way ticket to freedom be stolen or forcibly shared. Whoever was down there was either going to be walking out of here empty handed, or never walking anywhere again. 

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You had planned to try to off them with the pistol you knew the father kept under his pillow, but before you could try to sneak out of the room, you hear the footsteps of the intruder start to make their way up the stairs.

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You curse, knowing there wasn’t anything in this room lethal enough to make this quick, so you pad over to the wardrobe in the corner of the room as quietly as you can and stuff yourself inside. The element of surprise will have to be your weapon of choice.

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The sound of heavy footsteps reaching the top of the stairs can be heard from inside the dark cupboard, and as they entered the bedroom, the ominous sound made your heart race and your palms sweat, but at the same time, only fueled your determination. 

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You listen for a few moments as they walk further into the bedroom, and thank your lucky stars when for some reason, they pause before the wardrobe. 

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Taking a slow, deep breath to steel yourself, you place your hands flat against the back of the door, then shove it open with all of your strength. 

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You feel great pride in the sharp smack you hear as the wood comes in contact with the intruder’s nose, and you watch him stumble back from the force of it, clutching his nose in his hands and groaning, before you throw yourself at the man and tackle him to the ground.

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He hits the floor with a thud, his hat detaching itself from his head on impact, and looking properly disoriented as you straddle his chest. As much as you’d like to take the time to pat yourself on the back for taking down what you can now see is a very large, well built man, you have a job to finish, and you pull back your fist, ready to deliver what you hope will be another disorienting blow to his throat.

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Before you could even try, suddenly it’s you who’s on their back, as the man looms over you in a dark silhouette. His big, rough hands have your wrists pinned to the ground, and it seems he’s every bit as strong as he looks, any attempt you gave to try to wiggle yourself free was proven fruitless as he held you down with his weight. The bandanna he wore over the lower half of his face forced you to stare directly into his eyes, which were currently regarding you with something you couldn’t quite discern at the moment, too blinded by your own frustration at this turn of events.

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“Back off,” you growl. “This house is mine, find somewhere else to loot.”

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The look in his eyes changes, brows pinching together as he leans back from you slightly. 

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“Aint you a house servant?” 

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His eyes flick downward across your body, and you were nearly offended, until you realized he was merely looking at the uniform you were still wearing.

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“So?” You spit back.

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He’s quiet for another moment, thinking, and you can already tell you wont like what he comes up with as you watch the gears turn in his head. 

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“So that must mean you know where everything is around here.”

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“And what makes you think I’ll tell you?”

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He sits up slightly and shifts both of your wrists into one hand, and you watch as his other goes to wraps around the handle of the gun against his hip.

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You tense at the sight of it, and just know he’s smirking at you under the bandanna.

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“That enough to convince you?”

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You chew at your lip and seethe, the last thing you want is to admit is that he has you intimidated.

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“Listen,” he starts again, hand moving up to the piece of fabric covering his mouth and hooking a finger under it. “I didn’t come here to hurt you. And so long as you behave we can keep it that way. Now here’s what I’m suggesting-”

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He undoes the bandanna and brings it down to your wrists, and you would’ve started squirming again if it wasn’t for the sudden realization that hit you as you stare up at his now unobscured face- you seen this man before, on a wanted poster. This was none other than, Arthur Morgan a notorious outlaw with a hell of a bounty on his head, and now he was here, pinning you to the ground and proposing a deal. 

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“You’re gonna show me where the family’s safe is,” he continues, voice low and threatening as he secured the fabric around your wrists. “And help me get it open. And if you can do that without causing me any trouble, I’ll let you take anything else in the house, and we can pretend neither of us saw the other.”

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Of course he was after the safe, you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole country knew the Miller’s kept all their riches within their home. And sure, they had plenty of nice things that would fetch a pretty penny once you pawned them off, but they couldn’t provide a life long support like the money in that safe could. So even though there was a very real fear starting to speed up your pulse as you looked down at your bound wrists, now as the mercy of this incredibly dangerous man, there was also an idea forming on how you could turn this situation back into your favor. 

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“Alright,” you conceded, trying to make your voice sound small and unassuming, and he nods.

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“Good choice.”

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Finally he gets up off of you, then pulls you up to your feet by the bandanna between your wrists.

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“The safe is behind the family portrait at the top of the stairs,” you grumble, and he nods, leaning down to pick up his hat and place it back on his head.

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“Shoulda guessed,” he chuckled to himself. “Thing’s too ugly for anyone to keep around without a good reason.” Then he grabbed you by your wrists again, and all but drags you back to the top of the stairs.

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Now standing in front of the large painting, you watch from behind him as he inspects the intricate frame, before finding the side that unlatches, and swinging it open like a door. 

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While he’s distracted, you test your bonds, frustrated to feel that there’s practically no give whatsoever. You might be forced to chew yourself free if you couldn’t find something to cut it with. 

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“You know the combination?” He asks, drawing you from your plotting. 

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You shake your head. “The Miller’s are stupid, but they aint stupid enough to just give away that kinda information to anyone.” 

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He sighs, sounding tired as he gets down on one knee so he can press an ear against the safe, then spins the dial a few times to reset it. “Guess we’ll just do this the old fashioned way.” 

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You watch him for a moment as he goes through each number on the dial, waiting for a tell-tale click or the feeling of some resistance, while you try to think of some way to incapacitate him once he’d finally gotten the thing open. 

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Just as you were imagining strangling him with the bandanna around your wrists, and maybe even turning him in to the law to collect his bounty, you hear Arthur let out a frustrated groan. You’re surprised to see the safe door is open, considering the type of noise he made, until you step closer to peer inside, and see that instead of the overwhelming riches you both had been expecting, there’s a metal box sitting there with yet another lock keeping it shut. 

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You make a noise of disbelief, surprised that the Miller’s of all people would think to take extra precautions, and suddenly you’re very glad you didn’t attempt to strangle Arthur the moment the safe was opened. 

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“Don’t suppose you know where the key to this is?” he asks, inspecting the silver padlock for a moment then letting it clatter back into place. 

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You shake your head again. “I didn’t even know that was in there.” 

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He seems annoyed, but not overly bothered by this new hurdle to jump over, as he fishes a small, curved metal tool out of his boot, assuring this was nothing he hadn’t handled before. 

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You watch curiously as he sticks the metal piece into the lock, twisting it one way or the other until there’s some give, then he turns back to you.

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“You think you can find me a hair pin?”

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You nod, now feeling almost eager to aid him in this task, and scurry back off to the daughter’s bedroom, in search of a pin without any sort of ornamentation on it. 

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You can feel the same tingling sensation in your fingertips from before as you sift through the various drawers. Just earlier this night, you’d been imagining yourself as an outlaw, and now here you were, working side by side with a real one to steal from the wealthy and dole out your own personal sense of justice against a world that had forced you to the bottom of the food chain for far too long. It felt almost dirty to admit, but you like this feeling, going against the law to strike back at the system that held you down in the lowly position you were born into. 

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You liked it so much in fact, that it had you dutifully marching back to Arthur, presenting a single, plain hairpin with both of your hands still bound, the thought of attempting to loosen the bonds while you were left unsupervised never even crossing your mind. Not when all that money was so close you could taste it. 

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You lower yourself onto your knees when he pats the ground beside him. 

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“You’re gonna help me with this,” he says softly, plucking the pin out of your hands, then guiding you by the wrists up to the metal tool already stick out of the lock. “Hold that still for me.” 

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You do, and you watch him as he slowly works the pin into the keyhole beside the piece you’re holding. You watch him work in silence for several moments, his eyes cast off to the side as he envisions the inner workings of the lock and searches for the correct pins that will open it up. You almost assume he’s forgotten you were even there until he speaks up again. 

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“So what are you doing, robbing the family you work for?“ 

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The question definitely takes you by surprise, and you debate for a moment on if you should even answer, if it would be wise to give up any information at all to a man like Arthur Morgan. 

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“I just… don’t want to be a servant anymore.” 

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“And you’d rather be a thief?” You can see him looking at you from the corner of his eye, and the judgment behind his question irks you. 

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“I would if it means I get to live freely.” 

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He looks away after that, and you do too, suddenly very uncomfortable with the closeness between your bodies, but not daring to try and put some distance between you two, for fear of losing all of your progress if you shift in the slightest. 

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“So what does that mean to you?” he starts up again, breaking the stretch of silence that had fallen between the two of you. “Living freely?” 

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His question surprises you again, you didn’t think a hardened criminal such as himself would care to know these things, and you have to stop and think for a moment to find your answer. 

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You think about how you’ve felt tonight, fancying yourself an outlaw like him, someone who roamed as they pleased, dodging the law and pulling schemes, and never having to dust a piece of ancient furniture in a stuffy parlor for the third time in two days. 

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You told yourself that the first thing you would do with your money, if you were successful, would be to buy a nice plot of land and spend time lying low and making it a home, that that would be all you would need in life, but now when you thought of the future, it was clouded by that wonderful spark of adrenaline you felt when you committed acts that would surely have you doing time if anyone were to find out. 

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Was that life what you really wanted?

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You spend some more time wondering how you would put any of that into words for Arthur, but before you could even begin, he’s suddenly turning to you with a triumphant look on his face, as the lock finally clicks open. 

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You untangle your limbs from each other as you slide your tools free, and you both leave the previous question unanswered as you crowd yourselves around the metal box in anticipation. 

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“Let’s hope there ain’t a third box in here,” he says as he grips the sides of the lid, and you would’ve chuckled if the suspense wasn’t starting to eat at you.

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Loud, theatrical sighs of relief are let out by the both of you as the sight of several stacks of green bills come into view.

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Arthur quickly counts through them, and just as you get to your feet, remembering your earlier plans to cross him, hes grabbing you by your satchel, and stuffing a good amount of cash into it. 

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"Sixty/forty,” he says, when you give him a bewildered look, and you struggle to find your words. 

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“I… _ thank you. _” There was definitely much more to this man than you thought.__

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He just shrugs and goes to stand himself. “You helped get the thing open, s'only fair.”

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The rest of the money fits into his back pocket, and you watch him for a moment, before blurting out, “I didn’t think wanted men cared about fairness.”

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He pauses long enough for you to begin to question if it was a bad idea to let him know you knew who he was, as you watch multiple emotions flash across his face.

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“Decent ones do,” he answers after a long, deafening silence, and something about the way he says it sounds loaded.

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A moment longer and you wouldn’t have been able to stop yourself from asking if _ he was one of them _, but then you hear it- the clatter of carriages coming down the pathway.__

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You tense, and Arthur frowns.

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“That ain’t-?”

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“It is.”

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For whatever reason, the Miller’s had returned, not even a full day from what was supposed to be a week long trip, and were going to come home to see their entire fortune shared between the pockets of you and a notorious outlaw.

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Arthur grabs you by the wrist, and tries to lead you down the stairs, but you stop him, you had a better idea. 

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“This way,” you whisper, leading him further down the hallway till you reach the drawing room. 

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He throws open the doors, and you both slip inside and out onto the balcony. Over the railing, you could see that thankfully your horse was exactly where you left them, beside a pile of hay that looked cushioned enough to not break the bones of someone hurtling towards it from two stories up. 

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“We’ll have to jump,” you tell Arthur, who had no doubt already assumed your plan, as he stared wearily down to the ground. 

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“On the count of three,” you attempt to offer as you throw a leg over the railing. But before you could even say ‘one’, Arthur had already jumped, taking the plunge and landing safely in the sea of hay below you.

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You watch him shamble to his feet in disbelief, ready to curse him out for what seems to be his betrayal, ditching you to be found by the family and take the fall for everything, only for him to turn back around, arms held out high above his head, looking to you expectantly.

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“Come on, I’ll catch you,” he says, as quietly as possible for it to still reach your ear.

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You have to stifle a laugh at the almost… _ chivalrous _ act, mainly at how unnecessary it is, but you appreciate the thought behind it. __

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You almost wanted to make him wait for a moment, just to tease him, but then the faint sounds of an opening door and confused voices reaches your ears, and you’re throwing your other leg over the railing and pushing the rest of your body off of it. 

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The fall is short, with little time to panic, and you’re safe in the arms of Arthur Morgan before you even registered you’d left solid ground.

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Instead of grabbing you by the bandanna around your wrists like he’s been doing so far, he chooses to hoist you over his shoulder and carry you over to your horse (you would’ve scolded him for it if its wasn’t over so fast), and tosses you stomach-first onto its back, before unhitching the reins and mounting as well.

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He whistles, sharp and pointed and you cringe at the sound of it, knowing it wasn’t doing anything to help keep your location a secret.

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A second goes by, and then another horse is coming into view, and a beat after- just like you feared, one of the Miller sons.

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“Hey!” He shouts, pointing at Arthur with fear in his eyes, and you can only imagine how this must look. One of their servants, bound at the wrists and thrown over the back of a horse with a dangerous looking man dressed in dark colors at the reins. At least you’ll be more likely to be remembered as a victim than a suspect.

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Without another thought, Arthur spurs your horse forward, and into the surrounding forest, his own horse easily keeping pace, and you watch the house go as pure adrenaline pumped through your veins.

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You felt triumphant, a little annoyed by the constant jostling of your body as Arthur rode hard and fast away from your pursuers, but triumphant nonetheless.

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You’ve done it, you actually managed to pull it off. 

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Eventually, Arthur comes to a spot in the trees he deems safe enough, and slows both your horses down to a trot, before stopping them completely. 

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He dismounts, then goes to grab you around the waist to help you to your feet, chuckling when he catches the look on you face- wide eyed a breathing heavy from the peril, but with a hint of a smile on your face.

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“That always gets the heart pumpin’,” He laughs, two steadying hands on your shoulders as you find your feet again.

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When you’re no longer swaying in place, he finally goes to undo the knot keeping your wrists bound, and you watch him with silent admiration for the ease with which he works your free. He rubs at the skin of your wrists with those big, rough hands to get the blood flowing again, and suddenly it’s the nicest feeling in the world. You let him work his magic, telling yourself you’re simply too tired to wave him off, but really, you know you just like the feel of his hands on you. You almost suspect he knows too. 

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When he finally pulls away from you, you’re brought back to the present, and your high starts to fade ever so slightly with his next question. 

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“So,” he starts, as his horse comes up to him, and starts to nudge at him until he gave it a few pats. “You know what you’re gonna do now?” 

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“Well,” you say, slipping your bag off your shoulder and attaching it to your own horse’s saddle. It turns its head to you, and you offer a few reassuring strokes to its coat. “I didn’t get nearly as much as i was planning to. I should be alright, though. But I might have to find work somewhere else.” 

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When you turn back to Arthur, it’s clear he’s thinking something over, almost looking like he’s about to offer you something, but you continue before he could say whatever was going on in that head of his. 

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“That, or I could just pull this scheme again. Being a criminal don’t seem too bad now. You wouldn’t happen to need a partner in crime, would you?” you ask, only slightly joking.

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He doesn’t look very pleased at your words as he shakes his head. 

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“Trust me, a life of honest work is better than running from the law. More suited for someone like you.” 

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“_ ‘Someone like me?’ _” you repeat accusingly, and he nods as his hands go to rest on his belt buckle. __

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“Don’t mean nothin’ by it. I’m just saying, if you have any other options, you best take ‘em.” 

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You take a step towards him, a smirk forming on your lips. “I think you just don’t want any competition.”

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“I think you’d be dead in a week if you tried to live the way I do-”

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“You’re just afraid I’ll be better at it than you,” You tease, taking another step forward. “Robbin’ every homestead before you even get the chance.” And another. 

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You’re practically chest to chest now, and the glare he’s giving you would’ve been deadly if you didn’t like being the cause of it so much. 

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“What,” you say, giving him a playful pout. “You don’t think I’d be any good at it?”

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“I think you need to appreciate what you have now,” he says in a low rumble of a voice, nodding over to where your satchel rests against your saddle. 

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“Oh, well, then let me thank the man who made it happen.”

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You weren’t sure if it was the last bits of your adrenaline wearing off, or if something really has been awakened in you, but right at that moment, something about being in the presence of Arthur Morgan made you feel reckless and dangerous, yet invincible at the same time. So with almost no thought to your actions(there was very little thinking done tonight), you took a risk and threw your arms around his waist to bridge what little distance there was still left between you, and smash your lips into his. 

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His whole body immediately tenses, and even tries to pull away, but you’ve got a firm hold on him, and after his initial knee-jerk reaction, he seems to relax ever so slightly into it, and you swear you felt him lean into you. But you’re pulling back soon after, can’t let him enjoy it too much.

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You try to rein in your smile when you see the way he tries to keep his face hard and impassive while blushing bright red like a tomato, the color clear as day even under the shade of night, and you wonder where that big, tough outlaw from before went. 

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You drag your hands across his sides, letting one of them crawl up his chest and ghost over the exposed skin at the opening of his shirt, pleased to see him watching it, while the other went to rest behind your back. 

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“See you around, Cowboy,” you whispered, finally pulling away to back up towards your horse, taking great pleasure in the way he tries to hide behind the brim of his hat, and fiddle with his belt buckle to avoid looking into your eyes any longer.

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Poor fool must not have been kissed in some time, you think as you mount your horse and spur it onward, down the pathway to the new life you’ll make for yourself. He couldn’t even tell you’d stolen his cut of the money right out of his back pocket. _ ‘Someone like you’ _ he said. Heh.__

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_ _“Pool fool, indeed,” you tell your horse, as you pat the stack of bills now safely tucked away in your own pocket._ _

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_ _“Hey!” You hear Arthur shout. It’s faint, you’ve already put a good deal a distance between you, but you can still hear the rage in his tone, and it makes a smile spread across you face. “Get back here!”_ _

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_ _You urge your horse into a full sprint, just about cackling as you tear down the pathway._ _

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_ _ “You’re gonna have to catch me first!" __

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**Author's Note:**

> Hooray for my first story on here!  
I admit, I'm still a little shaky on the logic of this story, but people have been very kind on tumblr, so I figured I'd put it up here too.  
I appreciate you giving this a read! <3 If there's anything else anyone thinks i should tag this, please let me know!
> 
> (( https://saccharine-honnebee.tumblr.com/ on tumblr))


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